


At War

by naboru



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakdown suffers, Dead End tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At War

**Title:** At War  
 **Warnings:** paranoid schizophrenia, hurt/comfort, maybe fluff  
 **Continuity:** G1  
 **Characters:** Breakdown, Dead End  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Disclaimer:** Sadly, nothing is mine.  
 **Summary:** Breakdown suffers, Dead End tries to help.  
 **Beta:** [ultharkitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty)

 **Note:** Written for [tf_speedwriting](http://tf-speedwriting.livejournal.com/) and the prompt: Dolly Zoom/Vertigo effect from 23 April 2011  
Also written for [Kantadora](http://kantadora.deviantart.com/) (former FiskenYamamoto) because this fic was inspired by one of her pictures. :)

 

 **At War**

Breakdown crouched in the corner of his room. He was at the head end of his berth, his knees bent and arms slung around them.

He shivered. The light in the room cast long shadows; it only intensified his fear. He was so scared, however, that he could’t shut it down. The darkness was even worse. He wouldn’t see if something came for him…

Breakdown’s optical sensors burnt, roving hectically over the walls, taking in the moving shapes of darker spots where the light couldn’t reach. They changed, grew and shrank.

It was horrible.

A whimper left Breakdown’s vocaliser. He knew this wasn’t real, he knew it was only his processor playing tricks, but… Another voice in his head told him that his knowledge wasn’t true. That it was only a thought to calm him when there was no reason to be calm. The thought was only a hallucination, and everything he saw was real. Everything he felt and his optics perceived was true. He just needed to stretch his arm and reach to one of the shadows. They would be like tar on the metal, a thick liquid that stuck on his armour, and crawled over his plating to swallow him completely.

Another whimper, like a scream in the silent room.

Breakdown turned, looking at the walls behind him, his shadow a black hole in the brightness of his ceiling light. He edged away, shuffling, unable to move swiftly, it was an attempt to free himself from his own shadow.

It was futile, though. The darker shape resembling his stature was stuck on him. There was nothing he could do. And he was too afraid to run.

If he stood up, stepped off his berth, they would get him. Something was under his berth, it would snap at him, catch his ankle, and pull him down. But if he was fast enough…

Breakdown looked up at the door, the room shifting, walls growing, stretching, becoming endlessly huge in height and distance. The door was so far away. And the walls creaked while they grew.

Breakdown clutched at his helm, and he shook his head.

 _No, no, no, this wasn’t real!_ There was no reason to be scared, a part of him knew it was only his imagination, but he just couldn’t convince himself.

The temperature dropped. A cold thrill running up and down his armour, invading energon lines and freezing them. Breakdown couldn’t move anymore, and then static filled his audio sensors.

Breakdown’s vocaliser produced a quiet whine, almost unheard under the growing noise in his head.

He knew it was because of his raising energon pressure, and he could shut it down, make his audio sensors filter out the sound to be able to focus on the other noises in the room… But his processor didn’t accept any logical explanation. It was induced to confuse him, to weaken him.

Sickness spread from his tanks, causing him to shudder even more, his plating clacking, it mingled with the rustling in his head.

He needed to flee, he needed to get out, but he wouldn’t be fast enough.

Maybe, if he transformed, he could drive to the door, maybe even drive _through_ it, not pausing to open it, just leaving. _Out, out, out._

But the cold grew, reminding him of his immobility. And then a warm touch cut through the coldness of his frame, something near his shoulder…

Breakdown shrieked in surprise and, without his conscious intent, his engine revved hard. The light flickered once, then shut down with a zapping sound, and dipped the room in darkness.

Breakdown’s fans worked fast, even faster than before so that even he noticed his ragged ventilation. He air was like acid in his system, and the darkness scarier then he’d expected.

His optics were the only light source, the shadows becoming one with the blackness and were only there where Breakdown looked. He was sure they were moving. The moment he glanced back at a place he’d looked at before, the shadows had grown, crept along the wall, unseen, unnoticed while he stared at someplace else.

But even worse were the diffused shadows, black clouds, like black mist hanging in the air, wafting and waiting to get him. They’d infest his systems, would seep into his vents…

Breakdown tensed, his joints hurt from the strain. He could offline his optics, the shadows would vanish, the threat wasn’t real anyway…

But there was still the quiet screech of growing walls. Breakdown shivered uncontrollably.

He was going to die in here.

\---

Dead End stood in front of the door to Breakdown’s quarters. He sighed. The sensations through the bond were distressing to say the least. But it was to be expected.

Breakdown was easily troubled, always nervous, and sometimes it only needed a trigger to become as bad as it was now. With the rest of their team in medbay, damaged after the fight, it was easy to guess what caused the current attack of trepidation.

Dead End wouldn’t be able to relax and read, less alone recharge with all this coming over their gestalt link.

He heaved another sigh. It would be useless to knock. Breakdown wouldn’t open up, but fortunately he knew the code for the door. He just hoped Breakdown wouldn’t shoot at him.

When the door slid aside, it revealed a dark room. Obviously, Breakdown had short-circuited his lights - again.

The Lamborghini glanced up, a quivering mess on the berth. Back pressed against the wall, he whimpered now and then, joints locked in fear.

Dead End stopped looking at him after an astrosecond. Breakdown didn’t need another threat added to whatever he was scared of. Dead End could only guess how it had to be when your mind turned against you; and you were still somehow aware that it was all only a hallucination.

Dead End wondered why Vector Sigma would burden someone with this.

“It’s me. Can I come in?” Dead End asked. He didn’t look at Breakdown, but he knew the other was nodding. He sighed once more as he crossed the room slowly, optics always at the walls, or the floor, never at the other. Even when he sat down on the edge of the berth, close to Breakdown’s pedes, he never glanced at him.

The light from the corridor fell into the room and onto the two mechs on the berth.

A pede shuffled closer to Dead End, nudging his thigh, and he let it happen. It was a very careful touch, it wouldn’t leave a scratch. Dead End knew this move already. Breakdown wanted to make sure that he was real.

“’m sorry…” An apology, muffled as it was spoken into crossed arms over Breakdown’s knees.

“No reason to be,” Dead End said, trying to be reassuring, even though he thought that all this was not only a burden to Breakdown, but also to his team.

“I don’t…” Breakdown began anew, and tensed, Dead End heard the joints creaking, triggering the urge to stroke the other comfortingly. But he wasn’t going to touch the Lamborghini, not yet. It would only result in more panic. Dead End knew from experiences.

“I don’t want that…” the other said again, quietly. “I know, I mean, I…”

“It’s okay,” Dead End said, even if it wasn’t.

They sat there for another breem, before Breakdown spoke anew. “It’s trying to kill me…”

Behind his visor, Dead End frowned. Nothing in his voice betrayed his doubt, however. “What do you mean?”

“My room, something in it… it’s trying to kill me… I know it.” A pause, where Dead End didn’t know what to say, but the other continued quickly, stammering. “I mean, I… that. It’s just me. I’m sorry. I can’t… They don’t stop…”

With _they_ , Breakdown meant his thoughts, and that was something Dead End knew from experience, too.

“Do you want to recharge in my room?”

A nod, Dead End saw it from the corner of his optics. It was accompanied with an insecure, quiet question. “Can I? I mean… is that okay?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

Relief came through the bond, and it was as soothing for Dead End as it was for Breakdown. The Porsche poked the nearest pede once, before he stood up. He didn’t move otherwise, though, waiting for Breakdown to get up as well. Only then, he walked to the door, wincing slightly, as he felt a touch at his back.

Breakdown was pressed at him, the quick, warm gusts of air blowing over his plating, a hand fumbling for his, grabbing it tightly.

No, Dead End didn’t understand why Vector Sigma tortured one of his children like this.


End file.
